


Ink

by cowboykylux



Category: BlacKkKlansman (2018)
Genre: Desk Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Filthy, Fingerfucking, Fluff and Smut, Masturbation, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Public Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Shameless Smut, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:46:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22215775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboykylux/pseuds/cowboykylux
Summary: “I’ve had a real bad fuckin’ day, honey.” He grumbles around his cigarette, huffing and puffing and grinding his teeth in that way that makes you want to shove your fingers in his mouth or your tongue, just to let him alleviate some of the pressure."I can tell,” You say eventually, coming around from behind him to gently push away the manila folders and papers that litter his small corner of the bullpen, pushing them away to make room for your ass as you sit facing him. “In that case…I think you need something a little sweeter than this coffee.”
Relationships: Flip Zimmerman/Reader, Flip Zimmerman/You
Comments: 8
Kudos: 91





	Ink

He’s got a killer headache, when you walk through the doors. Normally, he’d be too engrossed in the minutiae of going over the facts of the case, of learning his cover, of of of, to notice someone puttering around. But tonight, he’s too aggravated from dealing with the bullshit of the world, too annoyed, too keyed up. So when the little bell chimes, when you step into the station lobby, he’s snapping his head up to get an eyeful of you.

Because of course it’s you – who else would it be at two in the morning? Who else would be walking his way, weaving through the desks in the bullpen with a thermos of coffee brewed exactly the way he likes from the metal percolator his ma gave him when he first moved out?

He’s so relieved to see you that he could cry, and maybe he does, hot tears of frustration pricking at the corners of his eyes that he rubs away. You’re soft, edges gone fuzzy as he blinks at you with tired vision, tipping his head up for a kiss that you’re so eager to give him. You pluck the cigarette from between his lips and lick into his mouth real slow and sweet, the kind of kiss that makes him want to sit you on his lap, makes him want to bury his face in your tits and just exist wrapped up in you.

Instead he winds an arm around your waist from where you’re standing next to him as he’s seated at his desk, smokes and smokes, fills the air with grey that makes the whole world hazy.

“I’ve had a real bad fuckin’ day, honey.” He grumbles around his cigarette, huffing and puffing and grinding his teeth in that way that makes you want to shove your fingers in his mouth or your tongue, just to let him alleviate some of the pressure.

His shoulders are tense from the stress of it all, of this case. He’s tense and he’s angry and you hate to see him so angry, so you drape yourself across his back, you slide your hands up and under the holster which wraps around his frame, you warm the leather with your hands in soothing strokes. As much as he wants to stay mad, he can’t, not with you so close, not with you lovin’ on him like this, so he lifts his face from where he’s frowning into a file in front of him, lifts it and shoves it into your cheek as he stubs the last remains of the cigarette into his ashtray that lives on the desk, hot tongue licking a stripe across your jaw.

Needy, hungry.

He’s always so hungry.

“I can tell,” You say eventually, coming around from behind him to gently push away the manilla folders and papers that litter his small corner of the bullpen, pushing them away to make room for your ass as you sit facing him. “In that case…I think you need something a little sweeter than this coffee.”

His eyes blow wide, inky black with lust and heat, simmering behind his thick lashes as he works his jaw, the muscles in his cheek tensing and clenching as his hands smooth up up up your thigh, slip under your skirt.

“Spread your legs for me.” He murmurs, transfixed at the way he reveals your skin with each inch of the fabric that he bunches up around your hips, slowly savoring the tease.

You lick your lips and let your knees fall apart, slip one leg carefully up and over, Flip’s shoulder resting in the crook of your knee.

“Like this?” You ask, coy and playful, as if you don’t know, as if you hadn’t been doing this for years.

“Just like that.” Flip says anyway, expertly unbuttoning his jeans to pull his cock out, desperately hard and needing relief.

He strokes himself for a minute or two just to get some of the tension out, just because if he doesn’t do this now, he’ll fuck you hard and fast and come in you too soon – he doesn’t want anything over too soon, not now, not tonight. Tonight he’s going to give you the pounding you both need, the railing you deserve.

He jacks off with the sight of your legs spread barely a foot from his face, but the angle is all wrong, he can’t – he wants – he doesn’t know how to articulate it, too wound up to properly ask, so instead he’s out of his chair and kneeling on the floor in front of you.

He’s tall enough that he can perfectly fit his head between your legs, and he does, he does and just breathes in the smell of your sex, can feel the wetness that’s started to collect there on his lips, on his cheek as he nuzzles his face into the soft skin of your thighs. You’re absolutely littered with marks down here, bright red and deep purple and muted greens, all different stages of his teeth and tongue claiming you as his own.

He’s excited to press more into your flesh, to sink his jaws into the meat of your thigh. Maybe it’s the case, maybe it’s just his mood, but when he looks at your soaked panties, when he looks at the way your breath is coming in a little heavier, he can’t help but feel primal.

He runs his tongue over one of the bruises, the one he gave you this morning when he ate you out before going off to work, before this fif-fuckin-teen hour shift started, before he got himself neck-deep in paperwork and bureaucratic bullshit. As he does, your thighs quiver underneath him, he groans, lets a finger or two make their way to gently pull aside your panties, tease between your folds so gently, so reverently that it has you shivering up on the desk.

“I fucking love this pussy, you know that? You know how much I love this hot cunt of yours?” Flip asks, licks up the crease where your thigh ends and your pussy starts, and that act alone has the hand that’s been carding through his hair tightening just enough for him to grin against you.

“Why don’t you put that mouth to good use, hm?” You’re breathless, and you laugh when he suddenly manhandles you up the desk more properly, presses your back against the cold wood.

Your back arches as he rips the cotton of your panties in two, come sticking to the cloth in little strings that have him guessing you fingered yourself before coming over, fingered yourself nice and slow so he could fuck you real easy. He leans over to kiss you, to make out with you, grateful and so appreciative of all the little things you do for him.

“In a minute,” He says against your lips, and you don’t mind the wait because while he’s making out with you on his desk, his hand is fully concerned with fingering you some more, judging for himself how stretched and pliant you are, putty in his hands. “You’re such a good girl for me.”

You hum at that, the praise making your cunt clench around his fingers, and he chuckles just a little into your mouth.

He pulls his fingers out of you with a wet sticky _pop_ and licks them into his mouth, cleans the taste of you off his fingers with a small moan.

“So sweet.” He says, letting the clean fingers grasp your jaw, pry your mouth open so he can rub his thumb along your tongue, stroking it.

His dick is leaking now, dribbling all over his jeans, and he strokes himself again for a while, trying to stave off coming. Not yet, he thinks, he can’t blow his load yet, not when he hasn’t even really gotten started.

So instead of blowing his load, he drops back down to the floor, wastes no time diving into your cunt.

“Phil!” You gasp excitedly, head thrown back, one hand grasping at the edge of the desk near your face, the other tangled firmly in his hair, keeping him in place as if he would ever leave, as if he’d ever stop eating your cunt out.

If he had his way, he’d spend every minute of every day between your legs. Sometimes, he gets his way.

This is one of those times.

“Fuck ketsl,” He groans, the deep deep deep baritone of his voice vibrating up through your pussy, up into your stomach where the butterflies dance. “You’re soaked.”

“I know – I,” You hiccup, shifting your hips enough in the grip he’s got on you to get his nose pressed right up onto your clit the way you love, “I wanted to get ready for you.”

“You came here to get fucked, that it?” He asks between thick broad licks of the flat of his tongue, between your folds.

“Uh huh,” You moan, eyes shut tight, hips squirming and rolling into his mouth as he slurps up your slick, swallows it down with a moan of his own. “Please?”

He doesn’t know what you’re asking for, if it’s to come or to get fucked by his cock or what, but he’s not ready to leave your pussy just yet, so he shakes his head, scratches up your cunt with his mustache, his goatee just a little longer.

“Mmm, P-Phil, yes!” Your bare foot – when did your shoes come off? – digs into his back, pushes him closer and closer into you as he curls his tongue up so that he can shove it deep inside your body, spears it into you.

He eats you out like he’s dying, like this is his last meal, like he’s been graced by heaven with the spread of your legs and he lets himself suffocate inside your cunt, nose inhaling nothing but the smell of your slick as it coats his facial hair, as he bruises your hips.

He knows it’s risky, knows it’s dangerous to have you like this, out in the open of the bullpen where anyone could see; but there’s no one here, even the janitors have gone and packed up for the night. He groans into you when he thinks about the puddle of come he’ll have to clean up when you’re both done.

Your orgasm hits Flip and he can’t help but feel a swell of pride, making you come on just his tongue, just his mouth. Your legs are shaking, poor things, from the feeling of it. He quickly pulls back to watch, his favorite part is to watch you come, watch the way your face flushes, sweats, your mouth drops open. He spits into your mouth, a man possessed. He watches you swallow it down the same way he swallows your come, licks it up from where it’s dripping down your thighs.

When your eyes open again, it’s to see him popping off the buttons of your blouse, a soft casual something you like to wear around the house. You’ve replaced the buttons on that blouse four times already – he figures fifth time’s the charm.

You’re not wearing a bra, which makes sense because it’s now two-thirty in the morning, but the sight of your bare breasts and stiff nipples is still something to behold.

“Im,” he starts, not even knowing what he wants to say, having no fucking clue because you’re lying on your back on his desk at work, with your cunt dripping and your tits out and his mind is broken, cock throbbing and drooling and desperate for you.

“Please?” You whisper, a pleasure-weak hand cupping his cheek, guiding his face closer to yours so he can line the head of his cock where it’ll sink in so so so easy.

“You want my big Jew dick, huh?” He asks, delirious from lust, obsessed with the way your lids are so hooded from your own pleasure that he can barely see your eyes.

“I do, I do – give it to me?” You ask back, demand, squeezing his hips with your knees.

He’s still clothed, keeps himself that way, keeps himself as put together as he possibly can while you’re falling apart on his desk, your back sweating and sticking to the paperwork he’d been ignoring all night.

“You gotta be quiet for me ketsl.” He says, no idea why, not like there’s anyone around to hear.

But you, you’re an angel and you nod, you let him cover your mouth with his hand as he rubs the head of his cock between your folds, wetting it, smearing all his pre-come and all your slick together in a way that squelches so dirty that he has to suck some drool back into his mouth from where it’s dangerously close to landing on your cheek.

He can’t take it anymore, the waiting, the teasing, not when you’re so wet, when your body is silently begging him to fuck you. So he finally lets himself have it, finally sinks all the way in with one thrust, bottoms out entirely.

“Oh holy shit,” he breathes, forcing himself in even deeper, impossibly deeper, so deep that he pushes you up the desk a little, knocks your cervix with the head of him in that way that makes you wince from the sheer fullness of it.

He fucks you hard, the way you both like it.

“I – I,” You gasp, incoherent, muffled against his hand.

He drags his cock nearly all the way out, until he’s rubbing at your folds again, before shoving it harshly back into you, making you yelp out against his hands, making your eyes prick and glisten. He does it again and again, until the whole length of him is impossibly soaked, droplets of your come and sweat splattering from the force of it onto the front of his jeans, darkening the denim.

The hand on your mouth slides down to your throat, gives it a good squeeze that has your cheeks darkening, an angry aroused flush burning its way down your chest. Your tits bounce from the way he fucks himself into you, the way he gets his aggression out from the day, spends it all through your cunt. You take it, take him so well, made for him.

“Fff _uck_.” He grunts out, slams his fist down on the desk near your hip, all his muscles and all his nerves on fire from how good it is, and you laugh in surprise, a laugh that melts into a loud moan.

He bends your legs this way and that, maneuvers them so he can hold you in place, so he can rail you hard. He’s knocking shit off the desk but he doesn’t give a damn, not when your cunt sucks him in every time he pulls out, like it never wants him to leave. Papers and pens are scattered all over the floor as he pushes you further and further up the desk, has to physically drag you back down when you start hanging over the edge of it a little too much.

He gives in to his baser needs and bends himself down so he can squeeze your tits together around his face, so he can press them to his cheeks and block out the world with your breasts. With closed eyes, he savors the feeling of how hot and wet and tight you are, still somehow so tight around his cock. He bites down on your sternum nips at the swell of your tits, licks up all the sweat that’s accumulated there before he sucks one of your nipples into his mouth.

You whine and squirm, getting close to coming again.

“Just a little longer, just hold out a little fuckin’ longer honey,” He begs from your tits, “I’m close.”

He likes coming at the same time as you when he fucks you, he doesn’t know why. Likes making sure his come gets all the way in you, likes it mixing, mingling. He likes the thought of the two of you being so joined, so completely combined. He’s been fucking you for damn near over a decade, and he still gets drunk off the thought of it.

His balls are tightening up and his stomach is fluttering and he knows it’ll all be over soon, so he holds on to the last few minutes of fucking he can, speeds his hips up to chase the glow of orgasm that rushes through him until it comes crashing down through his veins like a drug he can’t quit, making him bite down hard onto the join between your neck and shoulder as his hips stutter and shove themselves closer closer closer to you.

He drops a shaking hand to your pussy, rubs your clit until you’re sobbing out a gasp, until you’re coming and he’s coming and you’re both panting into each other’s mouths.

“I love you.” Your throat clicks when you let out a chuckle, adrenaline pumping through you.

“Love you more ketsl,” Flip groans as he rolls his hips slowly, lazily against you, cock still oozing come deep into your pussy. “Thank you.”

“For what?” You ask softly, pushing the hair out of his face from where he’s collapsed down onto your chest, exposing one of his big ears that you find so sweet.

“Just bein’ mine.” He sighs happily, nuzzles his face into your cleavage.

He’s not so tense anymore, not so stressed. How could he be after all, when he’s got you beneath him, your heart beating erratically, wildly, from the thrill of it all.

“Your coffee’s getting cold,” You say fondly, so in love. You spare a glance up at the clock which chimes three in the morning, the distant roll of thunder and crickets slowly coming back into play, slowly coming back into focus as the warm glow of orgasm fades. “Come home with me, I’ll make you a fresh cup.”

“One condition,” he groans as he pulls himself out of you, dick softening as he reaches for a tissue or something to clean you both up.

“Mmm what’s that cowboy?” You ask with a grin as he wraps your body back up in clothes as best he can, eventually settling on taking off his holster and peeling the flannel off his own back to hand it to you when you both realize that he’s torn and ripped your blouse beyond any real decent wear.

“You let me wash all that ink off your back.” He smirks at the sight of you, skin totally covered in smeared black and blue.

“Ink?” You’re confused for a moment before realizing he had laid you down on the mess of papers that he’s going to have to redo – which he doesn’t mind, he had to redo them _anyway_ – and now you looked like you’d been attacked by a copy machine.

“Isn’t it such a good thing you love me?” He asks, cheeky and smug, even as you tug on his ear.

Because you do it with a big grin, face flushed and sweaty strands of hair sticking to your cheek, your forehead, and he finds his headache’s gone away when you look at him so full of love and come and huff out a laugh and a,

“Yeah, yeah it is.”

**Author's Note:**

> Listen sometimes you just gotta get railed okay I don't make the rulez 
> 
> ;^)


End file.
